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That’s a Wrap: Vignettes from 2013

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The Breakfast Flub

Scene opens in a kitchen where pans are piling up and crumbs litter the counter. Our main man, the ‘husband’ is uncharacteristically whipping up breakfast; scrambled eggs with onions, peppers, and cheese.

Me: What kind of cheese did you use?
Him: I don’t know how to pronounce it. It was in the cheese drawer.
Me: Was it a hard cheese?
Him: Sort of.
Me: Was it Pawlett from Consider Bardwell)?
Him: No! I told you I don’t know how to pronounce it.

{Close up of me pondering the cheeses I know are in the drawer.}

Me: Was it Parmigiano?
Him: NO! I told you, I don’t know how to pronounce it. It was ‘SAH-LEY’ or something like that.
Me: ‘Sahley’? I can’t think of a cheese that’s named anything like that…

{Now, I’m rummaging through the cheese drawer, examining packages. Clearly exasperated the husband reaches over and yanks a package of cheese out of the drawer.}

Him: See!? ‘SAH-LEY’!
Me: That’s S-A-L-E, sale. It’s the Gruyere I got on sale at Whole Foods last weekend.
Him: Oh.
Me: Hahaha. *Snort*

Dog Daze; A Kitchen Confessional

sad dog beggingAt the beginning of a long summer weekend, our 5-year-old feisty terrier mutt suddenly got sick. He was having difficulty walking; barely able to heave himself up the steps he usually took 5 at a time. Worse yet, he whimpered when touched. By Saturday night he simply lay on a blanket on the deck shivering despite the heat with a heavy shirt over him.

The vet discovered he had both of the other tick borne diseases, not Lyme’s, and prescribed pills, after giving him a starter big dose of IV antibiotics. We were instructed to keep an eye on him and see if he got better in 2 to 3 days.

But he wouldn’t eat – not his dog food, not chicken, not fish nor anything he normally loved.  We were worried he wasn’t going to make it if he didn’t get some nutrition.  And shoving the pill down his throat was a serious challenge. He turned his face away from peanut butter. He sniffed at brie, comte, even the sure-bet mozzarella, but would not eat.

By day 3 we were at our wits end, frazzled, and staring into the fridge. I yanked a Kraft single out of the cheese drawer and started berating my husband for once again buying ‘cheeze with a Z’ slices when we had the realand delicious thing. While gesturing wildly, I looked down to find Iggy keenly following my hand waving the offensive slice and, clearly, looking hopeful.

We discovered there was, in fact, one thing our sick dog would eat. Kraft singles. For days he would come shambling in to the kitchen at the sound of the plastic being taken off, and we would tear the slice in three parts, one of which was wrapped around the pill.

Iggy ate nothing but Kraft singles and rallied on day 5. 

Photo Credit: Nomadic Lass via Compfight cc

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